Anything
by sutaretagaisce
Summary: In the aftermath, Haru discovers the folly of promising anything for love...


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Extra disclaimer: This is R rated for exploring themes of violence and psychosis that are (If I've done my job at all) disturbing. This is also Haru/Yuki, but not the general sweet type you see in Fruits Basket, so there's your warning people who like only sweet and cute H/Y and those who don't enjoy yaoi. After this, I only have to say that this is Prism's fault for her angst streak, so it's dedicated to her. . .  
  
There were many burdens that an ox was supposed to carry, Haru reflected mournfully. They were the pack animals of the zodiac, valued for their brute strength and docile natures and little else besides. That they should bear the loads in silence, uncomplaining, unnoticed...it was never really a question.  
  
He remembered Rin kissing him goodbye on the cheek before she left to slit her wrists. He remembered the note she left him saying "You're always the strong one."  
  
When he was born, he split his mother's stomach from the C-section. Even though he was too young to remember, he could imagine the horrifying scene as the Souma midwives tried to contain the spilling blood and severing of flesh made by little calf hooves. They must have thought it was some monster, like the Minotaur of old that devoured his mother in his escape to the living world. It was unnatural for something so dangerous to thrive in the fragile womb of its mother, only to infect her with the nourished, stolid body breaking bones and tearing muscle as its entrance.  
  
Even those who were on hand to deliver the other cursed Jyuunishi did not see the destructive power of the Jyuunishi-born ox. They knew from the legends that the mothers of the ox often did not live to raise them, but Haru's mother was lucky. Or just as cursed as he was, depending on your opinion.  
  
He remembered Momiji seeking his comfort from the sorrows that haunted each of the Soumas, and the bile that rose in Haru's throat when he realized he could not lie to the poor boy when he was asked to reassure the rabbit that his family would not abandon him.  
  
Haru brought no pride to his family by being always distant, always angry at his lot in life. So they sent him away to learn martial arts, where he could properly contain the growing rage within him. And they sent him away so his mother's hips would not ache whenever the spring season ended.  
  
There, he learned to harness the power behind his clenched fists, strong enough to break his mother at birth, but utterly useless at everything else. Of the children that learned at Kazuma's tutelage Haru was the least successful. That was just the way it was, being the stupid ox meant he could never be as good as the swift cat or the cunning rat.  
  
He remembered the look of shock on Kyou's face when Haru first snapped into his Black self and bashed the cat's head against the mirror after Kyou led him to the bathroom. The blood was so alluring to the Black, reflecting on the shards that decorated their gashed arms like jewelry.  
  
For the most treasured child of the Souma clan, the great Prince Yuki, to deign to help him, it changed the glazed way he stared at the world. It made Haru's docile acceptance of the pain he had to suffer through seem like it didn't have to be endured like a dull throb. Indeed, the pain was still there, but Yuki's kind words and his bitter refusals were like little rat claws digging into his flank and making his flesh twinge with the ecstasy of sudden feeling that sharp pain brings. It was a way to feel gloriously alive even though it made the dull throbbing burdens even harder to carry.  
  
He would do anything for Yuki, anything in the world. It was only the gentle rat that made Black Haru subdue his rage. It was with nothing given, unlike the charity he had come to accept, that Haru fell in love with Yuki as his first and only pure love. Not the love he had for Kyou--this dark lust that came from metallic stings of mirror glass and copper blood--or the love he had for Rin--the love of desperation and silences that go on forever between sturdy walls--and it was not the love he had for Momiji-- the helpless feelings and kinship of hiding behind selfless masks--but Yuki's love was the purest of them all. It was the one that consumed Hatsuharu the most, in the labyrinths of each new hypothetical he asked himself in the darkness of his own room.  
  
Would you die for him? Yes. Would you forsake everything else for him? Yes. Would you create the impossible for him? Yes. Would you throw miracles away for him? Yes. Would you be silent for him? Yes. Would you scream for him? Yes. Would you suffer for him? Yes. Would you kill for him? Yes.  
  
Would you.  
  
Anything.  
  
Yes.  
  
Each night he would recite the mantra, feeling the words forming deeper scars over his body with each new solemn declaration. If there was ever a core to Haru Souma he replaced it with each word, making sure that the begotten creature that was born and wrapped in swaddling and failure would slowly vanish.  
  
When the newcomer, the interloper, came to the Souma clan with their most precious secrets in tow, Haru remembered his words and remained stalwart as he felt Yuki's gaze finally soften at someone not him, at someone who didn't even need to try. And the most surprising thing of all, was that his burdens didn't get heavier when he saw Yuki smiling, even though the sharp pain that lanced through him was very different from the kind he had first accepted with joy.  
  
He remembered Akito's fury at the discovery that Haru, poor stupid misbegotten Haru, had dared to love his pet Yuki. He remembered the innumerable whippings and beatings Akito threw at him with his illness- ridden hands that felt dull and blunt and so markedly different from the pain of heartbreak he nursed like an old wound. Akito's decrees were just other burdens, other shackles to bind him in dark mazes that kept him from the light of Yuki's beautiful charm.  
  
And Haru hated Akito. He hated him more than anything else in the world. Not because Akito beat him, because that was something he had always felt that slight in some way or another, in silence and letters and outrage. But because Akito hated him first. In front of the head of the clan, all the words Haru repeated to strengthen his resolve vanished at his indifference. So? It would reply. You would die for him? So? You would kill for him? So? So what? So, you are nothing. So, Yuki would never want you.  
  
So? What does your anything matter, when you mean nothing at all...  
  
There is blood on his hands now. It is sticky and heavy on him, much heavier than his previous burdens. He is naked now, with every muscle trembling with spasms of confusion. The white and black of his hair is matted down, stringing and dripping with the blood and sweat of unknown souls. Anything could have happened, anything could have been possible in Haru's mind.  
  
He stands in the darkness, shallowly breathing as he tries to assess what has transpired. He knows nothing makes sense at the moment so he thinks back to the one solid fact that would dispel the reality from the dream. Am I awake? Am I dreaming? Am I here? Am I nothing? And he finds the one truth and suddenly his bare feet rest on the floor and feel the slicking pools of blood.  
  
He whispers the truth into the silence, to test the mettle of this reality with his one weapon.  
  
"I love Yuki."  
  
In the daze he remembers, like opposites attracting or magnetic poles balancing out his mind. Yes, he loves Yuki. He hates Akio. This is--was Akio's room, stained dark crimson. Other than that, it is all black. All he can register is the sharp pain of his many loves he feels coursing through him, bitter, bloody, and helpless. It lingers on even as the rest of him is stripped away to the bare essentials, much like the bloody and solitary birth of his past.  
  
Looking down, Haru notices the tousled sheets that were once so white and pristine are now splattered in blood. And it suddenly makes sense that the blood isn't his as he spies the still form and calm face half covered in straggled bangs. It makes him want to cry and laugh at the same time, because in the darkness it is hard to tell if it is the one he loves or the one he hates.  
  
He always sees it as ironic that Yuki and Akito look so much alike and are so different. So different from Rin and Kyou and Momiji who aren't as consuming to him with their very being.  
  
There is nothing to suggest a struggle, no cuts on the porcelain arms and no contortion of pain on the peaceful face. He looks to be almost as undressed as Haru is, except for the decoration of spilled intestines and splattered blood that covers the nude form.  
  
They look...so much alike.  
  
On the inside of his thighs, Haru feels the sticky texture of semen and the once warm glow of happiness that radiated from his center, something so different from the loves that have to be seen in mirror shards and farewell letters and silences.  
  
Hate and love, they are all so much alike anyway. You would do anything for either of them.  
  
He covers his face with his hands, blood and semen soaked, and tries to call up the words to repeat once again what he would do for Yuki. He could do so much. He is not as worthless as Akito says he is. He loves Yuki, and he would do anything for him.  
  
But they looked so much alike.  
  
Finis. 


End file.
